Half A Man, Not So Amazing
by platinumblind
Summary: MVP finally takes a minute to actually notice his tag team partner. Matt Hardy x MVP, SLASH, ONESHOT.


**Title:** Half A Man, Not So Amazing  
**Fandom:** WWE  
**Pairing:** MVP/Matt Hardy  
**Synopsis:** MVP finally takes a minute to actually notice his tag team partner.  
**Author Note:** I actually wrote this a good few months ago. There was a short time - a _very _short time - when I shipped Matt/MVP. I don't know why. I just thought it was... interesting. Anyway, this is the only Matt/MVP fic I wrote, but I'm very proud of it.

As for the rather strange title... well, you know how MVP says he's "half man, half amazing"? Well, that's sort-of where it came from.

* * *

So it's Friday night, right? And I'm sitting on a bench in the locker room, lacing up my boots, and I keep looking up at the door every now and then, nervous because I already know the identity of the next person who's going to open that door. The thought makes my heart skip a beat. Not very healthy for me, I tell you.

See, don't think that this is some desperate plea for attention. I don't NEED to do this. Believe me, I can have my pick of any of those bitches sat out in the crowd. Sure, they boo me while I'm out there, but I know for a fact that once the show is over, they're all over me like this cheap ass paint is over these locker room walls. I don't need him. I don't even want that stupid motherfucker anyway.

Oh, y'all are probably wondering just what I'm on about. Well, it's my tag team partner, Matt Hardy. But wait, scratch that. He's not my partner, not in anything. I'd be the WWE Tag Team Champions all by myself if there wasn't some kind of rule that states the tag team belts HAVE to be held by two people.

Anyway, yeah. Matt. Well, I'll be honest - at first, I hated the guy. I've always hated the guy. Still do, actually. But... I don't know, there's something about him. He knows how to carry himself; it's actually kinda cool how he's so open and honest, yet at the same time comes across quite mysterious. And then there's his physical appearance. I'll admit, the guy has quite decent dress sense. And then he has long, dark curly hair, with pretty dark eyes to match... and I'm slightly afraid to admit that his ass looks quite nice in those crazy pants he wears out to the ring. I sometimes wonder if he's yet caught onto the fact that there are moments when I have a tendency to stare at him. Well, I don't know. If he has noticed, he hasn't mentioned it.

Now I know what you're all thinking. But I'll tell you one thing right now: Montel Vontavious Porter is not gay. Never has been, never will be. That's bullshit. I have nothing against gay people - let people do what the hell they want is what I say - but I am most definitely not one of them. Homosexuality is reserved for tight t-shirt wearing, NSync loving white boys. And, well, Matt's brother Jeff. But that's beside the point. I am not gay.

I just happen to think that my tag team partn- ...ugh, I mean, the guy who happens to be holding these tag title belts with me is rather attractive.

I finish lacing up the boot on my right foot, and I'm just about to put my left foot on the bench to start lacing the other one up when suddenly the locker room door swings open. I almost gasp. It's him. I actually have to put my hand to my chest to make sure I'm not about to keel over dead from a slight heart attack.

"MVP." Matt's got this smirk on his face. I start wondering what the hell he's smirking about, but I figure he'll probably be about to tell me anyway, so I keep quiet, just greeting him with a simple nod.

He strolls over coolly, taking a seat on the bench next to me. I decide I'm not going to look at him, and continue lacing up my boot. Silence resumes for a few more moments and I stupidly begin to think that everything's going to be fine, until...

"So, how are you?"

What the fuck?! I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. That smirk is STILL on his face. "Did you want something, Matt?" I ask him, a little annoyed.

I watch him closely, and become even more confused when I notice him glance down momentarily at my US title belt which I've got on my lap, before turning his attention back to me again. He's too quiet. And he looks too damn happy. This is weird. What the hell is this motherfucker on?!

"Well..." He moves closer to me, takes another glance at the belt in my lap, and then reaches out with his hand to touch it, running his fingers slowly over the letters of my name on the nameplate. I draw another quick breath, and at that moment I only just begin to notice that my heart has started racing. Why? Well, might have something to do with the fact that Hardy Boy has his hand way too close to my... oookay, I suddenly decide that I'm booking another appointment to see my doctor the next chance I get. This cannot be good for my health.

He raises his hand away from the belt, and his arm goes back down at his side again, where I silently agree that it should stay.

"Well what?" I ask, realizing that he hadn't finished his sentence.

He looks up at me, and we lock eyes. His smirk has faded; now he has a more serious look on his face.

"Well, Partner, I just paid a visit to Vickie Guerrero's office, and..." He stops mid-sentence, and I notice his tongue quickly dart out of his mouth to lick his lips. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and cough slightly, and I'm starting to wish he would finish his sentence so I can hurry up and kick his ass out already. "...me and Vickie came up with the amazing idea that instead of our tag match against Deuce and Domino, you should be in a match against Kane tonight."

If I didn't hate him before, I sure as hell hate him now. His smirk is back, and this time I just want to slap it right off his face.

"You did what?!" I practically scream at him, "What's wrong with you, Hardy!? I can't face Kane!"

He pats me on the back. "Of course you can, you'll do great," he says to me, but in his voice I can tell that he sounds uninterested and that he doesn't give a shit, "Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta go. Oh, and..." He leans in even closer, so close that his lips are touching my ear. The feeling very nearly makes me shiver. "...try not to stare at my ass when I leave this time."

Okay, so maybe he has noticed how I stare at him.

Then he gets up, and starts making his way over to the locker room door. But as he's about to open it, he turns around to face me again. "By the way," he says, and then he signals to my lap again, "When are you finally going to give me what I want?"

My eyes widen, and my jaw drops. Did he just say...? And then I swallow hard, not quite knowing what to say or do next.

Well, at least we know one thing now. Hardy's a whore. I guess all those times when I got mad at him and called him a cock-sucking motherfucker, my words were partly right.

"I... you... what?" I begin to stutter, and oh my god I don't believe I've ever sounded this stupid in my life.

Matt rolls his eyes. "The US title. When am I getting my shot?"

Ohhhh.

Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.

I look down at the title belt in my lap, and feel suddenly very thankful that it's there. Then I look back up at Matt. A grin forms on my face and I'm about ready to shoot back a smart reply to him, but then as I watch him slowly unbutton his shirt and take it off, suddenly my smart reply manages to disappear from my brain and I realize that if I open my mouth, a stupid stuttery mess of words are likely to come out again.

But... wait a minute, did he just take his shirt off ON PURPOSE? He's smirking again. Okay, something's really not right with this guy.

"You know what, never mind, I'll just talk to Vickie about it," he says, "Anyway, I'll see you later, Partner." He winks at me and then walks out of the locker room, shutting the door behind him.

Hmm.

So, you know... if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he knows something.


End file.
